


Tricks for Treats

by Hexcraft



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Animalistic, Halloween, M/M, potion, rimjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1413232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexcraft/pseuds/Hexcraft





	1. Chapter 1

It was dark in the basement, the only light coming from a dozen candles set out on the shelves. They glowed and flickered, lending an eerie feel to everything else in the room. Shadows shifted and danced in the corners, hiding the majority of the basement, save for a large cleared space that held nothing but a table covered in vials, bottles and little boxes, and something that would have been an odd addition to any basement.  
In the center of the candle-lit space sat a cauldron. Supported by two large brackets set into the floor, it hung about a foot above the worn stones with a small pile of wood underneath it. It was filled almost to the brim with water, the surface of which was so calm that it perfectly reflected the candlelight and its surroundings. The basement appeared to be otherwise deserted, but then a cloaked figure stepped out of the darkest portion of the basement and approached the cauldron with slow, measured steps. A low, murmuring voice accompanied the figure, and suddenly the wood under the cauldron burst into flames.  
This new source of light helped illuminate the table and the figure. The table’s bottles and vials and boxes were revealed to contain liquids and powders and crystals of countless colors. It was a strange sort of rainbow that would have inspired curiosity in even the dullest of minds. As for the figure, the face was made slightly visible—pale skin almost seemed to glow in the dim light, and green eyes were startlingly bright against the gloom.  
Hands just as pale as the face lifted, a wand gripped elegantly in one. Slowly, they began to move, and the murmur grew louder as the green-eyed figure raised its voice. The words were unintelligible but obviously held power—the water in the cauldron began to boil and bubble.  
Without losing the pace of the murmur, the figure extended its empty hand towards the table. Bottles and vials were lifted into the air by an unseen force and drifted over the cauldron; as if by their own accord, they tipped and poured various amounts of their contents into the boiling water. It turned colors, sparks flew and the concoction hissed with every added ingredient. The murmur became a loud chant in a language that very few could even hope to understand.  
Movements becoming quick and abrupt, the figure leaned over the cauldron to check the progress—the glowing liquid lit up his face well enough for a smile to be visible. The potion was almost complete.  
“What the hell is _that?_ ”  
The shout made the figure jump and sent it stumbling forward, straight into the cauldron. It tipped as those vials that had been above it fell in, the power controlling them disrupted. Just like that, the potion exploded with a reverberating _boom_ and the basement was thrown into chaos. Two voices yelped, bookshelves crashed to the ground and dust and smoke filled the air.  
Coughing, the figure struggled to sit up where he’d been thrown across the room by the explosion. The robe’s hood had fallen back, revealing—now dirty—golden blond hair, thick eyebrows and shocked green eyes set in a pale face that was small but obviously that of a male. There was dirt and dust and the remnants of the potion smeared all over the blond man, and it was several moments before he managed to climb to his feet. Silent, he surveyed the damage caused by the explosion; his basement was all but destroyed.  
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, eyebrows drawing together in a frown. It was going to take him ages to clean this up. The frown deepened when his gaze landed on a second man, who was in a similar state to himself but had yet to get up.  
“What is the matter with you?” he demanded angrily, making his way across the basement and dragging the intruder to his feet. The second man was taller than the first by a good few inches, his eyes were blue instead of green and his hair was a lighter shade of blond.  
“Relax, dude,” the blue-eyed man responded with a grin, perfectly white teeth a stark contrast to the filth-covered tan skin of his face. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”  
“I was _not_ scared!” the first snapped, turning to look at the mess once more. “Look what you’ve done! And you ruined my potion!” He sighed, eyes closing as he rubbed his temples. “Why are you here, Alfred? The party doesn’t start for another hour.”  
Alfred’s grin widened. “I came to help you set up! Looks like you got it all done, though,” he added, pointing at the ceiling to indicate that he meant upstairs. He then rubbed the back of his head, looking properly embarrassed for the first time. “Sorry about your potion, Artie.”  
“It’s Arthur, you twat,” the shorter male responded, though his tone had softened and he even chanced a small smile at the other blond before sighing; it was nice that the blue-eyed blond had at least wanted to help. “Let’s just get cleaned up before the others arrive. We can deal with this mess tomorrow.” With that, he began picking his way towards the stairs as Alfred followed close behind. Only a few steps up, Arthur was startled to feel a hand settle on his hip and weight press against his shoulder.  
“Alfred?” The taller blond was leaning on Arthur for support. “Are you all right?”  
“I…feel kinda…funny,” Alfred said slowly, blue eyes unfocused behind dusty glasses. A slight frown creased his forehead and he swayed where he stood. Moving quickly, Arthur steadied him then began helping him up the stairs, pulling one of the taller man’s arms over his shoulders.  
“It’s because you got some of the potion on you. Come on, we’d better shower before it really starts kicking in.” If he was honest, Arthur had to admit that he was starting to feel a little strange, as well. Those spots on his skin where the potion had touched were slightly numb and he felt as though his knees might give out if he wasn’t careful. But he was used to the first effects of magic, and Alfred wasn’t. It wasn’t at all surprising that the taller blond was feeling odd.  
Still not quite focused, Alfred grinned and let out an uncharacteristic giggle. “Together?” he asked softly, leaning close to nuzzle his face into what little of Arthur’s neck wasn’t covered up by his black cloak.  
The action made Arthur’s face turn a deep shade of red and he struggled not to sputter. “Ah, no, lad, that’s probably not the best idea.” He kept his tone calm even though he was losing it internally. Alfred wanted to shower with him? Where the hell had that come from? They were barely even friends!  
Alfred pouted at the Brit’s refusal but didn’t protest, his attention now focused on making it up the stairs.  
Together, they emerged from the destroyed basement into the back hall of Arthur’s house and from there moved into the kitchen. It was decorated for the Halloween party Alfred had somehow convinced the shorter blond to host; orange and black streamers hung everywhere, fake spiders were placed strategically so as to not be seen right away, festive snacks were set out on the long island counter along with a bowl of dark purple punch that had marshmallow eyeballs floating in it.  
“You can use the guest bathroom’s shower,” Arthur said as they slowly made their way to the second floor. “I’ll be in my bathroom if you need anything.”  
Seeming reluctant to be away from the shorter blond, Alfred let his head rest on Arthur’s shoulder for a moment before letting him go. “’Kay.”  
It was a little endearing to see Alfred acting so innocent, even if it was just because of the potion. Still, Arthur instinctively felt very protective of the bespectacled blond. After making sure that Alfred knew where everything he was going to need for his shower was, Arthur left him to shower and went through his bedroom to the master bath beyond it and quickly shed his dirty clothes. Most of his body was still clean, as the cloak had shielded him from the dust and the potion, but it had gotten in his hair and on his face, and he could feel it dripping down his back—somehow, it had found its way beneath his collar.  
Steam quickly filled the room once he turned the shower on, the warm vapor sticking to his skin as he stepped into the shower. The heat sent a pleasant shiver down his spine and he took several moments to let the water drench him completely.  
Humming, Arthur picked up his soap and scrubbed himself thoroughly, removing all traces of the potion and dust and dirt from his pale skin. Next came his shampoo, which he lathered vigorously into his hair in an attempt to clean the golden locks. Then his fingers discovered something that made the green-eyed man freeze.  
Cautious fingers explored the odd bump that had formed out of the top of his skull. Had he hit his head during the explosion? No, he didn’t have a headache and the bump wasn’t painful to the touch. It didn’t even feel like skin but was almost fuzzy, like wet velvet. Further investigation confirmed that there was a second bump on the other side of his head. Now curious and just short of panicking, Arthur hurriedly finished his shower and, with a towel neatly wrapped around his waist, went to the large mirror and parted his hair to examine the lumps.  
“What the blazes?” he muttered, frowning to see two identical fuzzy brown lumps that had sprouted from his skull without him noticing. They were clearly a result of the potion, though Arthur couldn’t be sure what they were supposed to be or how long they would remain attached to him because his original recipe hadn’t included anything like this.  
A resigned sigh escaped him and he abandoned the mirror in favor of going back into his room to dress. It only took him a few minutes to choose and put on a clean pair of trousers and a neatly ironed button-down shirt. It wasn’t what he’d originally meant to wear, but then, his potion had been intended to turn him into an Angel of Death, so that plan was ruined.  
“The git shows up early instead of late for the first time in his life and he ruins my potion.”  
It was typical America—the young nation had a talent for poor timing, and this time he’d exposed them both to a potion that Arthur couldn’t be sure wouldn’t have drastic or dangerous effects on them.  
At least he didn’t feel light-headed anymore.  
“Alfred!” he called as he exited his bedroom and began walking towards the guest room. “I want to warn you—that potion could have some strange effects on us. I’m not sure what or how long they’ll last but I found some odd lumps on my head.”  
The door opened just as he reached it and Alfred appeared, dressed in nothing but a towel. Arthur immediately turned red and averted his gaze, though in the few milliseconds before he looked away he couldn’t help but notice that Alfred wasn’t the lazy, out-of-shape nation the others always said he was. He was far from out of shape, his body muscular and toned in a way that Arthur wasn’t even vaguely surprised by—he’d always known his former colony would grow up to be strong. But he couldn’t let Alfred know any of that, so he kept his gaze on the floor and settled into his usual façade.  
“Put some bloody clothes on!”  
“I can’t.”  
“Why the hell not?”  
There was no response, and Arthur forced himself to look at the taller blond. Somehow, he managed to do so without being distracted by the American’s body. It surprised him to see Alfred looking sheepishly at the floor, arms straight at his sides with his hands clenched into fists.  
“Alfred?”  
Silent, Alfred turned so his back was to Arthur, and the golden blond’s eyebrows rose so high that they all but disappeared into his hair. “Oh…I see…”  
Well, at least that part of the potion had still worked—a pair of golden wings had sprouted from Alfred’s shoulder blades, and though they weren’t large enough for the man to fly, there was no way he would be able to wear a shirt over them.  
“I’m surprised they grew so quickly,” Arthur commented, trying to remain calm so as not to upset Alfred even further. It was as he was examining the wings that he noticed something moving at the bottom edge of Alfred’s towel; his eyes widened. “Oh, bloody brilliant! You’ve got a _tail!_ ”  
“ _What?_ ” Alfred yelped, whirling around and twisting his neck to try to see it for himself. Sure enough, the last few inches of a long, tawny colored tail with a dark tuft of fur on the end was peeking out from beneath the nation’s towel. “What the hell was in that potion?!”  
“It was supposed to turn me into an Angel of Death but _you_ blundered in and now I have no idea what that potion will do to us.” The golden blond took a deep breath to steady himself, rubbing at his temples. “Look, it will wear off eventually. For now, let’s just try to find you something to wear.”  
His gaze still locked on the tail, Alfred allowed himself to be steered back into the guest room by the shorter man. “Dude…I can _feel_ it…”  
“Of course you can, Alfred.” Arthur’s tone was matter of fact. “It’s a part of you, after all. You should be able to move your wings, as well.” That comment had Alfred experimentally stretching and flexing the feathery appendages, almost hitting Arthur in the face in the process.  
“Oi! Watch it!” he snapped, dodging and quickly moving out of range of the wings.  
“Sorry.” Alfred didn’t look or sound like he was at all sorry. “Dude, this is weird! Can you feel yours?”  
A blank look took over the shorter blond’s face. “Mine?”  
“Yeah!” Reaching out, Alfred gently touched something just to the side of Arthur’s face, and the green-eyed man’s eyelids fluttered in pleasure; a barely audible moan escaped him. “Whoa, it’s super soft.” He continued stroking whatever it was and Arthur felt himself relaxing to the point where he might have fallen down; Alfred started laughing. “Hey, Artie, you gonna be okay?”  
The teasing tone in his voice made Arthur focus and he stepped back out of the American’s reach, glaring. “Shut it.”  
“Awww, but they’re so cute!” Alfred grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Floppy bunny ears suit you.”  
Arthur paused—floppy bunny ears? With quick strides, he went into the bathroom and to the mirror. Sure enough, long white ears hung almost to his shoulders, a black mark on each. Well, he certainly hadn’t intended for _that_ to happen when he’d been making his potion, but then, he hadn’t been planning on a lion tail, either, and Alfred had grown one of those. Apparently, the potion had been corrupted even more than he’d thought.  
 _Oh…look at that…_  
Leaning closer to the mirror, he turned his head this way and that to get a clear view of the bumps he’d discovered in the shower, both of which were now significantly larger than they had been—he didn’t even have to move his hair to see them. They were a good three inches tall now.  
“Alfred, I think I’m growing antlers.”  
The American came into the doorway and rested his shoulder against the wooden frame. “Are you some kind of jackalope, then?”  
“It would appear so. Hmm…” Arthur didn’t even pause before dropping his trousers and pants, and he failed to notice the way Alfred started and stared before quickly looking away. “Splendid. I have a tail.”  
It was white with a jagged black stripe, and it was definitely a rabbit’s tail, though it was small and didn’t seem to have finished growing in yet. “We must have been exposed to more of the potion than I originally thought.” He left his clothes where they’d fallen and walked past Alfred out into the bedroom, expression thoughtful as he considered the situation they’d gotten themselves into.  
“Arthur?”  
“Hm?” Distracted green eyes landed on the towel-clad American and a light blush colored Alfred’s cheeks.  
“Do you have clothes we can wear?” the younger blond asked, weight shifting from foot to foot as if he couldn’t help but squirm under that gaze. “I don’t think my tail will fit in my jeans.”  
Ah, of course. They were going to have to accommodate their new body parts until the effects of the potion wore off, and there was no telling how long that would be. A smile spread over Arthur’s face and he held out his hand. “Come along, love.”  
The word made Alfred’s blush darken but he accepted the older nation’s offered hand without comment and remained quiet as he was led through the house up to the attic. Boxes, trunks, tubs and chests filled the dimly lit space, and a thick coat of dust covered everything—it was obvious that Arthur hadn’t bothered to come up here in quite some time.  
“Dude, you got a lot of stuff,” Alfred commented as Arthur crossed the wooden floor and knelt to open one of the trunks.  
“When you’re as old as I am, America, you’ll have a sizeable collection of your own.”  
The lid creaked as it was lifted, and then Arthur had gathered a large bundle of fabric into his arms. He wobbled slightly as he stood again, and Alfred took a step forward to help the Englishman, but stopped himself when he remembered that Arthur was mostly naked and probably wouldn’t welcome being touched.  
Not that he would have minded touching the shorter blond. There was no denying that Arthur was attractive, and watching him walk around in nothing but a black button-down, the front covering his groin while the back was caught up on his tail so that his rear end was exposed, was something comparable to torture. The contrast between the fabric and Arthur’s pale skin made it impossible not to notice every little movement and Alfred could barely manage to tear his gaze away. It was adorable and sexy at the same time, and Alfred’s fingers were practically itching to pet the older nation’s ears again, or maybe his tail. He would bet money that scratching just above that tail would make England melt.  
Instead, he cleared his throat and made sure his towel was still secure. “Your antlers are getting bigger.”  
“I’m not surprised.” Arthur reached up and felt one of the bony protrusions, noting that they had begun to branch into points—he had three now instead of just one. His arms full of the fabric, he turned and began moving towards the stairs to leave. “I should have plenty of clothes for us to choose from.”  
As he passed the younger nation, Alfred couldn’t help but take a deep breath in through his nose. An intoxicating scent reached him, musty and hot and absolutely screaming _sex_ —he barely managed to not grab Arthur and pin him to the wall just so he could kiss the smaller male until Arthur’s knees gave out. That definitely wouldn’t work out very well for him. Still, he kept close to the other man as he followed him down the stairs, fighting to keep his eyes away from the Brit’s backside. He could feel his own tail shifting beneath the towel, and he had to keep his wings closed to fit through the narrow passageway, but once they were back into the main part of the house, he could let them unfurl slightly without taking up too much space.  
“These are kind of cool.” He looked over his shoulder at the golden feathers, noticing for the first time that they actually shimmered a little in the light. “Wish they were big enough for me to fly, though.”  
“That can be arranged.” Arthur offered a small smile, looking more innocent than any floppy-eared jackalope had a right to.  
The wide grin that took over Alfred’s face couldn’t be helped. “Really? Cool!”  
An amused laugh escaped the shorter blond. “Not tonight, though. I don’t think mixing potions would be a very good idea.”  
“That’s okay!” Having to wait did nothing to lessen Alfred’s excitement, and he completely forgot about Arthur’s lack of clothing as he all but pounced on the Englishman to hug him tightly, causing the bundle of fabric to fall to the floor.  
Immediately, Arthur felt his entire body heat up and knew that he was blushing like mad to have his half-naked body held against Alfred’s mostly-naked one. The towel rubbed his thighs pleasantly, soft and still slightly damp from Alfred using it. He found his face pressed into the cook of the taller blond’s neck, tan skin close enough to kiss. He smelled like the lavender soap the guest bathroom was stocked with, but there was something else that made Arthur twitch his nose and breathe deep—his skin began to tingle. Whatever that sent was, it was _wonderful._  
Something wet and hot slid over his shoulder all of a sudden and Arthur gasped, stiffening. “A-Alfred?”  
“You smell really fucking good.” The words were half growled and made Arthur shiver. Another lick, this one going up the side of his neck, and then the American’s mouth closed over the soft, sensitive flesh. Teeth dug in slightly, sharper than they should have been, and a moan escaped the green-eyed blond when Alfred began to suck and lick the spot.  
He couldn’t help it. His entire body was trembling within Alfred’s embrace; Arthur reached up and bit the neck that had been inviting him to kiss it, his arms locking around the American’s torso. The mouth on his own neck loosened momentarily as the taller blond let out a groan. But it was only for a moment, and then the mouth was back, biting and licking and sucking with renewed vigor. Arthur was gasping, his nails digging into the skin of Alfred’s back.  
Vaguely, he wondered how this was happening, how they’d ended up holding onto each other like this, though the thought was quickly replaced by a burning need when Alfred began moving his hips just slightly.  
“Hell,” Arthur muttered, pressing closer to increase the friction, wishing that damned towel wasn’t in the way, “don’t be a tease, Alfred.”  
A breathy chuckle tickled his neck. “You’re the one who’s been teasing me, old man, with your shirt caught up on your tail like this.” To make his point, he slid one hand down to cup the older nation’s rear, giving it a squeeze so that Arthur squeaked and jumped slightly.  
“O-oi! Watch it!”  
Another chuckle, and then two hands were placed firmly on his backside, bringing his hips forward so that Alfred could grind against him. Arthur shuddered and moaned, his knees feeling weak as heat pooled in his belly.  
“You really do,” Alfred paused to lick up the unmarked side of the smaller blond’s neck, “smell really, really fucking good, Artie.” Without hesitation, he used his grip on the Brit to lift Arthur off his feet and took the few short steps necessary to set him on the counter.  
Arthur’s face turned an even darker shade of red, but he didn’t fight the hands that moved to his thighs and pushed his legs apart, or the mouth that kissed down his neck and started undoing the buttons of his shirt.  
“Mm…where’d you learn to do that?” he asked, hooded green eyes watching as the American used his teeth to pop the buttons one by one. Those blue eyes glanced up at him and Alfred smirked—it was an incredibly sexy expression.  
“Just something I picked up a few years back.”  
The casual response brought a crooked smile to Arthur’s face and he leaned his head back against the cupboard, eyes falling shut as he enjoyed the gentle touches on his hips and thighs, the way he could feel Alfred’s breath through his shirt. They’d never done anything like this before, hadn’t even so much as shared a small goodbye kiss since Alfred was still a child, and yet Arthur found himself wondering why they hadn’t done this years ago. There was nothing better than Alfred touching him, than Alfred marking his neck and looking at him with those deep blue eyes and a smirk on his handsome face.  
“Hey, Artie.”  
“Yes?” He brought his head forward and looked down at the American, curious.  
“Did you know you’ve got…fur?” Shy fingers stroked the white fuzz that had grown on Arthur’s stomach, and the Englishman arched into the touch without thinking as a soft moan escaped him; Alfred smirked. “That feels good, huh.” Now bold, he lightly scratched and petted the older nation’s stomach as Arthur bit his lip and tried not to make a sound.  
“Hmmnn…s-stop it…” he protested, batting Alfred’s hand away after several moments then placing his hand over the fur protectively. “That tickles.”  
Still smirking, Alfred leaned forward against the counter so that Arthur’s knees were to either side of his hips, and placed a light kiss on the hickey he’d given the older nation. “You seemed to like it.”  
Arthur stubbornly refused to shiver at the feeling of lips on his neck. “Shut up.” Pouting, he turned his face away before Alfred could kiss him so that the American’s lips landed on his cheek. Rather than be put off, Alfred began petting the ear that had all but been presented to him, and to his amusement, Arthur leaned into the touch with a sigh.  
“You’re so cute,” he commented, smiling, then he gently shifted the ear to the side so he could lick the hickey, and his voice dropped, “and sexy.” A gentle kiss. “And irresistible.” Little nips trailed down Arthur’s torso and the Brit shivered. “And all mine.”  
Panting lightly, Arthur shifted on the countertop, knuckles white from how tightly he was gripping the edge. “Alfred…wait…”  
Impatient blue eyes met green. “Why? I can smell it, Artie—you want this. Your body is warm and you’re trembling and damn the way you moan is sexy as hell. Please, let me do this.”  
Smell? The word made him pause and Arthur stared at the other nation for several moments, unblinking. “You can smell me.”  
Alfred appeared to be losing his patience. “ _Yes!_ Why do you think I couldn’t resist giving you this?” He touched the hickey with gentle fingers. “I could barely keep my hands off you in the attic so when I hugged you it was impossible to stop myself. Right now, your smell is the only thing I can focus on and it’s making me want to pin you down on this counter and—do unspeakable things to you.”  
Even though he didn’t say anything in response to that, Arthur was glad the younger nation had paused rather than say something crude about what they seemed to be on the verge of doing. And he had to be honest. He could smell Alfred, too, and the American’s scent was absolutely fantastic. It filled Arthur’s head with lusty, half-formed ideas and fantasies that put a blush on his cheeks. No doubt, the potion had affected them internally as well as externally. The smell had to be pheromones, which was why he was suddenly having such a hard time sticking to the decision he’d made decades ago about ignoring the feelings he had towards the younger nation. Anything between them wouldn’t be appropriate, after all. Still, with that smell in his nose, it was easy to forget.  
Moving slowly, Arthur wrapped his arms around the other male’s neck and pulled him into a gentle hug, nuzzling his face against Alfred’s collar bone. “I know exactly how you feel, love, but we can’t do this right now. The party starts in less than twenty minutes. We need to get dressed before the guests arrive.”  
A whine sounded in the back of the American’s throat, but he didn’t argue. “…okay.”  
Arthur smiled and placed a light kiss on his younger almost-lover’s lips. “After the party, I’m all yours. You smell bloody amazing, too, so don’t think holding back is any easier for me than it is for you.”  
That at least made the blue-eyed nation smile, and he helped Arthur jump down off the counter. “You promise?”  
“I promise.”  
Satisfied that he wasn’t going to be stuck feeling the way he did indefinitely, Alfred chanced one last kiss with the Briton before pulling away and putting enough distance between them that Arthur’s smell wasn’t quite so overpowering. To force himself to focus, he directed his gaze to the pile of fabric that the shorter male had dropped. “Are you sure there’s clothes in here for us? I mean, I can’t wear a shirt, but I’d like some pants, at least.”  
With a knowing smile, Arthur knelt by the pile and began separating the different articles of clothing. “Trust me, Alfred. I have more than enough to choose from.”  
True to his word, it took less than ten minutes for Arthur to have Alfred dressed in a pair of tan trousers that were ripped off below the knees, a hole cut in the back for his tail. He himself chose a similar pair of white trousers, though his were full-length and fit more snuggly than did Alfred’s. He also wore a black and white waistcoat so that the fur on his belly was partially visible.  
“How do I look?” the American asked, turning with his arms up and his wings spread slightly. He was grinning, now completely over the fact that he’d grown extra body parts and in better control of the urges Arthur’s smell was making him feel.  
Green eyes looked him over, Arthur’s expression thoughtful. “There’s fur on your back, going down your spine and under your pants—I assume it goes all the way to your tail. Your wings are a bit bigger but you still won’t be able to fly with them, your nails look sharper and longer than before, and you’ve got lion ears instead of human ears.” All in all, the changes were impressive and to be completely honest, Alfred looked good as winged half-lion. The tawny fur suited him, and when he experimentally flicked his ears, it put a smile on Arthur’s face.  
“All right, all right.” The shorter blond interrupted his companion’s self-examination. “You look fine. Great, in fact. Do I look all right to you?”  
Alfred grinned. “You look good enough to eat, Bunny Boy.”  
The teasing nickname sent a lick of fire down Arthur’s spine and he immediately heard Alfred’s voice growling it in his ear; his body gave a pleased shiver before he managed to dispel the miniature fantasy and give his former colony a stern look. “I’m serious, America.”  
“Your teeth are different, and it looks like your tail finished growing in,” Alfred commented musingly as Arthur did a slow turn to show off his outfit. “It’s bigger than before. So are your antlers.”  
Once again, Arthur reached up to feel the bony growths, simultaneously running his tongue over his teeth to discover that his two front teeth had grown considerably and he seemed to be sporting fangs beside those. “Yes, though I’m hoping the antlers will stop soon. I don’t want to carry around a pair of great bloody horns all night. My neck would hurt terribly from the extra weight.”  
“True.” Alfred grinned and began gathering up the extra clothing. “We should put these somewhere before the others show up.”  
Arthur didn’t hesitate. “Guest room.” Together, they carried the clothes up to the guest room that Alfred had used; Arthur glanced at where the American’s dirty clothes were piled in the corner to keep himself from looking at the bed. “I’ll wash those for you after the party, so you can wear them again once the potion wears off.”  
Nodding, Alfred dropped his share of the load on the bed. “Thanks.” He unconsciously reached out and took hold of Arthur’s hand, not noticing the shorter man’s blush, and led him back downstairs. They’d barely made it into the living room—which was decorated similarly to the kitchen—when the doorbell rang and Arthur jumped slightly.  
“Oh, hell…Alfred, get the door, will you?” The Brit hurriedly began shutting off the main lights and turning on those he’d set up for the party, muttering under his breath as he moved about. Alfred watched him for a moment, a fond smile in place, before he went to the door and opened it with a grin. “Welcome to the party!”  
“ _Bonjour,_ Alfred.”  
On the front doorstep stood Francis and Matthew, dressed as a referee and a hockey player, respectively; Alfred smirked at the insinuation. “Hey, guys.” Stepping aside, he let them into the house and felt a swell of pride at their exclamations of how great the decorations looked.  
“Thank you.” Arthur appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, the dim lights lending his antlers a particularly dangerous look. Awed, the two new arrivals stared for several moments before they got over the shock.  
“Your costume is marvelous, Arthur,” Francis complimented him, and the Brit smiled.  
“Thank you, but it was Alfred’s doing.”  
“And Artie is to thank for my costume.” The American grinned, and saw his brother’s eyes go wide inside his helmet.  
“You have really sharp teeth,” the quieter blond commented—Alfred ran his tongue over his teeth and hid his surprise at the strange feeling of larger-than-normal canines. He hadn’t noticed them before.  
“Sure do! Sharp teeth to match my tail!” Obviously proud of it, he turned and waved his lion tail at them, simultaneously spreading his golden wings. He was enjoying the attention, but what he wasn’t expecting was for Matthew to move close and begin petting the tawny fur that grew down his spine. Immediately, the tall blond arched into the hesitant touch, a deep rumble sounding low in his chest.  
Matthew giggled and scratched gently. “He’s purring.”  
Moving close as well, Francis reached up and stroked the American’s ear—it twitched, and Alfred’s head tilted slightly. The Frenchman chuckled and obliged the obvious request, letting his fingers bury themselves in the ash blond locks, scratching behind the ear he’d touched.  
The purring grew louder.  
“What ‘ave you done to _Amerique?_ ” Francis asked, blue eyes landing on Arthur. “’e ‘as become like a big kitten.”  
Arthur shrugged and smiled secretively. “I gave him a costume.”  
Francis returned the smile. “ _Et_ what ‘appens when _Angleterre’s_ ears are scratched?”  
“He likes that,” Alfred interrupted, sill enjoying Matthew’s attention; his blue eyes were only half open behind his glasses. “Rub his belly.”  
The comments made Arthur blush and he glared at Francis’ smirk. “Don’t even think about it, Frog.”  
“I wouldn’t dare, _mon ami._ ”  
Finally, Alfred came to his senses and moved away from his brother, shaking himself. “Mm…” There was a slightly embarrassed look on his face, though he quickly replaced it with his trademark grin.  
“You guys are the first to arrive, so make yourselves comfortable! We’ll be right back.” With long strides, he moved past them, grabbed Arthur by the arm, and pulled the Brit into the kitchen.  
“Alfred, what are—mmph!” His question was silenced by a fierce kiss, Alfred pushing him back against the wall and jamming a knee between his legs, applying just the right amount of pressure. Arthur moaned, clutching at the taller man, drawing him closer, deepening the kiss. Shamelessly, his hips rocked and he rubbed against Alfred’s thigh in a desperate bid for friction and pleasure. Moans escaped them both; they didn’t break apart until the ring of the doorbell reached them and Arthur turned his head away.  
“G-guests,” he panted as Alfred switched to kissing his neck. “Alfred…”  
“Damn it, Artie.”  
The growl made Arthur shiver, though he did manage to push the American away. “Not now.”  
Alfred whined, and Arthur knew exactly how his younger soon-to-be-lover felt. It was torture to have that scent in his nose and a hickey on his neck and Alfred shirtless without being able to touch him. Just the sight of the American was enough to make him breathe a little deeper and then of course that scent had him imagining all sorts of lovely, dirty things to do to him. And he couldn’t do any of them.  
Smiling to hide his own frustration, the Briton lifted a hand and scratched behind Alfred’s ear just as Canada had done. The combination of hair and fur was soft against his fingers, and the low purr that started in the younger blond’s throat made him chuckle.  
“Don’t worry, Kitten,” he whispered, still scratching as Alfred pushed his head against Arthur’s hand to get him to scratch harder, “it’s only for a few hours. You can last that long, can’t you?”  
America didn’t respond, though being called “Kitten” in that crooning tone sent a pleasant tingle down his spine. Besides, it was distracting how good it felt to be scratched behind the ear and he found himself moving to press close to Arthur, nuzzling his shoulder and neck. Purring was an odd vibration in his chest, and one that he couldn’t help because damn that felt good and—  
“Don’t stop.” He didn’t even care that he sounded breathless.  
A chuckle reached his sensitive ears and the hand moved, scratching down the back of his head to his neck. His shoulders hunched and he bent his head forward to allow better access, purring even louder than before. Slowly, the hand migrated under the corner of his jaw—he tilted his head with the movement, desperate to maintain contact—and around to the underside of his chin. Arthur’s nails scratched lightly over the soft flesh, and Alfred’s eyes fluttered in pure ecstasy. He let out a content hum in combination with the purr, going limp as he pressed himself against Arthur and pinned the smaller man to the wall again.  
“Such a good Kitten,” the older nation cooed, and Alfred felt his face heat in a blush. He knew he was acting silly and ridiculous and should be embarrassed, but he simply wasn’t. What Arthur was doing felt good and he wasn’t about to ignore it for the sake of pride.  
“ _Disculpe, mis amigos_ ,” a voice sounded, and both blonds turned to see Antonio, dressed as a matador, standing in the doorway. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but this is where the snacks and drinks are.” The brunet looked mildly uncomfortable to have walked in on his fellow nations behaving so intimately.  
“Of course.” Arthur took his hand away, ignoring the disappointed look Alfred gave him, and gently pushed Alfred away. “How rude of us. Help yourself, Antonio.” With that he left the kitchen, trying to put some distance between himself and America. He would much rather have stayed with the lion, but he knew he shouldn’t. Obviously, they both lacked a good deal of their usual self control and restraint. They’d never done anything even remotely similar to that before, and if Antonio hadn’t shown up when he did, Arthur had no doubts that he would have started kissing Alfred again. Hearing the bespectacled nation purr was unfairly arousing.  
Now that he wasn’t in the same room as his former colony, it was easier to ignore the scent still lingering in his nostrils. It was quickly covered over by a series of new smells, and the green-eyed jackalope was surprised at how well he could pick out where each smell came from. Something warm and sweet drew his attention to where Feliciano, wearing a prisoner’s black and white striped uniform, and Lovino, dressed as bull complete with horns and even a fake nose ring, sat side-by side—it was a good smell for the Italy brothers. Beside North Italy sat Germany, a spicy, heavy scent that reminded Arthur heavily of Ludwig’s wursts coming from him. The blond wore the uniform of a police officer.  
 _They’ve all dressed to match._ It was amusing to see what his guests were wearing. Gilbert and Roderich were both dressed as rockstars, though Prussia was decidedly more comfortable with his clothing than was Austria. Elizabeta stood near the two males, looking regal and proud in the traditional garb of Hungarian royalty. There was Ivan, dressed as a Russian swordsman, Yao as a classic ninja wearing all black and with his face covered. Glaring at China from across the room was Belarus, terrifyingly dressed as an undead bride. Her sister, Ukraine, was dressed much less frighteningly as a belly dancer.  
One corner of the living room was occupied by the three former Baltic States along with Poland. Eduard was a goblin of some sort and Raivis appeared to be playing the part of his “brother’s” pet demon dog. Toris wore a nice black suit in combination with a simple silver mask, and Feliks stood beside him in a pink, flouncy tutu with ballet slippers laced up to his knees. They made an interesting group. The last gathering consisted of Denmark, Norway, Finland, Sweden and Sealand. Mathias had somehow convinced Lukas to match him, dressing as Robin Hood and the Sherriff of Nottingham, respectively. Arthur was a little pained to see Peter, smiling and happy with his adoptive parents. The young micronation was dressed as a fearsome yet adorable pirate captain, while Tino and Berwald had dressed as members of Peter’s crew. He was glad Sweden had taken Sealand under his protection.  
It appeared as if the rest of the guests had arrived while Alfred and Arthur had been busy in the kitchen, and the Brit flushed lightly to wonder how long they’d been in there and how distracted they’d been for so many nations to be here without them having noticed. It was shameful for him to be acting the way he was.  
 _He’s a fellow nation but also a former colony. It isn’t proper. My feelings for him can’t be allowed to develop any further than they already have, and letting that bloody smell get to me is only going to make things worse. Pull yourself together, Arthur. You’re a former empire. You can handle a few pheromones._  
His mind made up, Arthur distracted himself by joining in on the conversation occurring between Matthew and Francis. The Frenchman immediately began to tease him about his ears, but Arthur was only partially focused on his blond companions, and not enough to be irritated by the teasing. He was too aware of everything else that was going on in the room—his ears picked up on every little sound, his nose knew where each nation was. This being the case, he knew it the moment Alfred entered the living room, and could feel those blue eyes watching him. The heat of that gaze made him want to shiver—he could so easily imagine what Alfred was thinking and had to consciously stop himself from touching the mark on his neck. Doing so would only attract attention to the hickey, and Arthur would rather die than have Francis discover its existence.  
 _Stop looking at me, git. This is already hard._  
Now that Alfred was in the living room, his smell began to overpower those of the other nations. Even with so many others there, it was impossible to ignore that headiness, that invitation to come closer and lose himself. It made Arthur feel too hot to have clothes on; he had the irrational desire to strip down naked regardless of where he was and who he was with, to cross the room and press himself up against the taller blond, scratch his ears and neck and back and chin, kiss his neck and shoulders, the strong chest, that mouth. Such a talented mouth that Arthur knew, just from the kissing they’d done and the hickey, could give him more pleasure than he’d ever known.  
Without meaning to, Arthur let his gaze wander and locked eyes with the American. He was immediately trapped, frozen in a sort of terrified excitement at the hungry, predatory expression on Alfred’s face. The bespectacled man’s nostrils flared slightly, breathing in the scents of the room, and his tongue slowly dragged over his top lip. A shiver worked its way through Arthur’s body at the sight as if he could feel the heat of that tongue.  
Forcibly, he broke the eye contact and once more turned his attention on France and Canada, this time making a serious effort to participate in the conversation even though all he wanted to do was get up and silently leave the living room, go upstairs to his bedroom because he knew Alfred would follow him without hesitation.  
 _He’d lock the door behind us so no one could interrupt like Antonio did before, and I would keep my back to him, let him come up behind me. Let him run his hands over my hips, strong and calloused and a little rough. Maybe he wouldn’t even bother unbuttoning my waistcoat. He’s strong enough to rip it. The buttons would scatter across the floor and I’d lean back against him so that he’d rub his hands over my chest. His breath on my neck or shoulder would be the only warning before a bite that would become a new hickey. Hell, he’d smell good to be so close, good enough to kiss and touch and taste, to pull him down onto the bed with me and hold him close because being this far from him right now is almost painful and I really don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to take this._  
The Brit snuck a glance at the winged half-lion, who was engaged in conversation with Germany and North Italy. Spain had returned from the kitchen with drinks and snacks for himself, Feliciano, Lovino and Ludwig, and Alfred had his own cup, as well. It was lucky, really, because if Alfred had been looking at him and they’d locked eyes for a second time, Arthur had the distinct feeling that he really would have abandoned the party in favor of seeking out privacy in a different part of the house.  
This party was taking much too long.  
Alfred couldn’t believe the situation he was in. Nothing about this was fair. Nothing. He had to sit there almost naked and pretend to be interested in Feliciano’s story about costume shopping just so he wouldn’t spend the entire duration of the party staring at England. Who could blame him, though? The jackalope was just _sitting there,_ acting innocent while he talked to Francis and Matthew and pretending like he didn’t know the sight of him drove Alfred mad.  
Somehow, Arthur had become irresistible to him. There was no denying that he’d been attracted to the older nation for years, but he’d never done anything with the feelings, and that was nothing like this. This was torture. This was _need_ and Alfred had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do. He’d never experienced this before. Was this what being in love was supposed to feel like? Hopefully not. Being in love was supposed to be happy and, well, loving, but all he felt now was a possessive hunger, one that he really couldn’t subdue.  
 _I’m going to take my time with him after this. How can he be so calm? Can’t he smell it?_  
The impossible-to-ignore scent practically burned his nose and Alfred knew he was one suggestive look away from dragging the smaller man out of the room so they could have some more alone time. His mind raged at him to claim the Briton and mark him as his own, to make sure that no one ever touched him or even so much as looked at his Arthur the wrong way. It was an animalistic urge and the more rational part of his mind knew that he couldn’t actually do what he so desperately wanted to do, but that knowledge didn’t tame the desire.


	2. Chapter 2

It was past midnight by the time the party ended and the guests began to make their way to the door. Tired but happy, they waved goodbye and went their separate ways, some inebriated from the alcohol that had been brought by Denmark and Russia, though most were sober and had only partaken of the provided snacks and the punch. The eyeballs in the punch had frightened Feliciano at first, but the short Italian had absolutely loved them once it was explained to him that they were made of marshmallows—in retrospect, giving Feliciano that much sugar probably hadn’t been the best idea.  
With a sigh, Arthur closed his front door for the last time and leaned against it, his eyes falling closed. He was tired beyond belief, both from having spent the last several hours entertaining his guests, and from resisting every little urge he had in regards to Alfred. Urges to kiss him, to hold his hand, to hug him and cuddle with him on the couch. Not to mention the decidedly _not_ innocent fantasies that plagued him. He hadn’t allowed himself even the smallest display of affection for fear that he would forget himself, and it had worn him out.  
Unfortunately, he still had to clean up the decorations, put away the leftover snacks and shower again before he could go to bed.  
Arthur turned and surveyed the mess that was his living room, the crumpled napkins and empty cups, leftover apple cores, wrappers from candy and the torn up streamer that had, at one point, been used to tie up Lovino for Antonio’s amusement.  
“This could take a while.” Just as the Brit began to move about the room and gather up the trash, he felt a presence at his back and didn’t have time to turn before hands were on his waist and lips brushed against his shoulder; that overly familiar scent filled his nose.  
“Artie…”  
 _Oh, bugger…_  
“Yes?” He tried to keep his tone level and not betray the small thrill of excitement that ran through him when Alfred pressed close.  
“You promised.” The words were whispered just before a kiss was placed on the back of his neck, and Arthur turned to look up into deep blue eyes.  
“Yes,” he whispered, knowing that Alfred was holding himself back, that the American had been holding back for hours. They both had and now they finally had the house to themselves again.  
To hell with the mess—they could clean it up in the morning—and to hell with his pride. He wanted the winged half-lion before him to make him moan.  
With a small smile, he took one of the taller man’s hands into his own and silently led him out of the living room. Kisses were dropped on his shoulders. Alfred followed so close behind that it was amazing he didn’t trip over Arthur’s feet. Each kiss made the Brit walk faster. He forgot about how tired he’d been only a moment ago, forgot about the mess that waited downstairs and the disaster that his basement had become. None of that mattered and he didn’t waste time thinking about it. All he wanted to think about was Alfred.  
He turned once he reached the landing of the second floor, slipping his arms around Alfred’s neck and kissing the magically transformed nation. Strong arms locked around his waist and he felt himself being lifted. Normally, that would have bothered him, but tonight it was exactly what he wanted, and he instinctively wrapped his legs around the taller blond’s waist to help hold himself up.  
“Bedroom.”  
As if it was the cue Alfred had been waiting for, he continued to kiss the smaller blond as he effortlessly carried him down the hall to the door of the master bedroom. Kicking it open, the American easily found his way to the bed even in the darkness; he didn’t bother to shut the door behind them. Arthur smiled as he was gently placed on the bed, and used his hold on the other man’s neck to pull Alfred down with him.  
Mindful of the teeth the potion had given him, he set about kissing Alfred’s neck, his hands moving down to untie the tan trousers they’d managed to find for him to wear. “Purr for me, Kitten.”  
The taller nation chuckled, his own hand playing with the buttons on Arthur’s waistcoat, slowly undoing them one at a time. “Make me, Bunny Boy.”  
Arthur paused at the teasing nickname then let his fangs graze against his companion’s throat in a vaguely threatening manner. “Is that a challenge?”  
Blue eyes met green—Alfred’s expression clearly said that he wasn’t about to let Arthur stop him from doing any of the things he wanted to do. Not that Arthur would even consider stopping him. “What if it is?”  
The jackalope growled and squirmed, positioning himself more comfortably on the mattress. He wasn’t in the mood for a challenge—he wanted sex, not a fight. “Just shut up and kiss me.”  
Another chuckle, then Alfred was over him, knees and hands braced to either side of the Briton as he leaned down and kissed the smaller man. Softly at first, his tongue slipping out to taste and tease those perfect, pale lips, to feel the sharp point of the jackalope’s fangs. And he purred, loudly—he felt Arthur smile against his mouth. But it wasn’t long before soft kisses weren’t enough, and he began to suck and tug at the golden blond’s lower lip until Arthur gave in. Those delicious lips parted and Alfred immediately slid his tongue past them, tasting the man beneath him for only the third time. Tea overlapped by the lingering sweetness of Halloween treats and candy. Alfred thought he could have gone the rest of his life without tasting anything else and been entirely happy with it.  
Finally, the waistcoat was open and Alfred ran his hand down the length of Arthur’s torso, the thin fur soft under his palm. He smirked when the smaller man arched into his touch, and settled his hand over the crotch of the jackalope’s trousers.  
“Someone’s excited,” he teased, rubbing the slight bulge he’d found.  
“Nng…b-belt up.” Arthur glared at him even as his hips rose to increase the contact. His face was a deep shade of red that made the green of his eyes seem even more vivid than usual. Alfred found himself enthralled by the sight, by the odd teeth his soon-to-be lover had grown, the antlers and adorable, floppy ears, the white fuzz on his flat belly. It was all so strange and perfect.  
“Turn over,” he instructed suddenly, and Arthur’s expression became confused.  
“Why?”  
Alfred squeezed the smaller man’s groin hard enough for Arthur to moan, eyelids fluttering as he lifted his hips more and tilted his head back.  
“Turn over, Artie.”  
There was no room for argument in his tone, and the jackalope nodded. Shakily, he picked himself up off the bed and turned to lie on his stomach. Immediately, Alfred began tugging at the waistcoat until he’d gotten it off the shorter male—he tossed it off the bed then ran his hands up Arthur’s back, applying just a little bit of pressure to his spine with his thumbs. The golden blond hummed, back curving, his fingers curling into the blankets slightly.  
“Mmm…Alfie…” the Brit sighed as those hands rubbed back down. The American’s rough palms felt wonderful against his own soft skin and he found himself mumbling Alfred’s name over and over again. Yes, they were going considerably slower than he’d expected, but Arthur didn’t mind. He was enjoying the back massage too much to complain about his abandoned erection, and besides, they really should be taking things slow. It was their first time, after all.  
Suddenly, one of Alfred’s hands slipped down and began stroking the tail protruding from the seat of Arthur’s trousers. An unexpected spike of pleasure shot up the jackalope’s spine at the gentle touches and he groaned, hips going up so that his backside was in the air.  
Alfred chuckled and kissed the Englishman’s shoulder. “Is that an invitation?” he purred, one hand petting that tail as the other moved to cup the backside that had been presented to him.  
The teasing question made Arthur blush, and he remained silent for lack of a response.  
“Hmmm?” Light kisses trailed down his back until they reached the waistband of Arthur’s trousers—teeth caught the fabric and tugged. An excited shiver left Arthur trembling and he looked over his shoulder to meet Alfred’s gaze. The American was smirking, blue eyes bright in the gloom. One of his hands was still busy with Arthur’s tail and they both knew the Brit liked how it felt.  
“Al…”  
“Hm?” He let the fabric fall from his mouth and smiled, fingers idly scratching just above his companion’s tail.  
Arthur moaned softly, belly arching into the bed so that he really did look like he was asking to be touched in his most sensitive of places.  
“Keep doing that,” he demanded breathlessly, face half pressed into the pillow. He didn’t care that he was acting like a slut or how needy he sounded. He knew it was shameful to move the way he was, to so openly display how much he wanted and needed Alfred to touch him. “Mm…ah…A-Alfred…”  
“Arthur.” His name was growled. “Either shut up or strip because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”  
Pressure against his backside, an unmistakable hardness, and hands pinning his shoulders down made Arthur gasp—his knees slid farther apart, the blankets offering little to no traction.  
“A-Al?” he whimpered, nails digging into the fabric beneath him. It was easy to feel how aroused the man behind him was—the hardness was the most obvious sign, but he could also smell it. That scent had been everywhere for hours but now it was so much stronger than before, so heavy that it hurt Arthur’s nose. It said _rough, harsh, need and take_ and it made him nervous. His nose twitched and he lifted his head as high as he could, which wasn’t much considering he was being held down, straining to look back at Alfred.  
“Relax,” the larger nation soothed, nuzzling his face against the back of Arthur’s neck. An occasional kiss or lick was added in and he was still purring softly. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Artie. I just really, really want you , and hearing you say my name like that makes me want you even more. Plus, you’re really cute and sexy and I can’t believe we never did this before.”  
Arthur couldn’t help but smile weakly. “Was that a request for sex or a confession of love?” he asked, doing his best to sound playful even though a part of him was still convinced that he was in danger. That was probably just the rabbit part of him being overly cautious, though.  
The hands on his shoulders slid down to cup his waist and then Alfred’s face was just in front of his own, a small, shy smile on the American’s lips. “Can it be both?” he asked softly—Arthur turned red.  
“Both? Ah…I suppose it could,” the Brit hedged, hardly daring to believe what he’d just heard.  
“Good.” Alfred kissed the tip of his almost-lover’s nose. “Cause it is.”  
The shorter blond hesitated, forgetting momentarily about the very suggestive and vulnerable position he was currently in with the other nation. “You…love me?” It was soft and unsure, almost timid.  
“Course I do,” Alfred responded confidently, one hand stroking down Arthur’s back as if he couldn’t bear to not be touching the jackalope. Without even meaning to, the smaller male arched into the touch, putting a smile on the bespectacled nation’s face. “I wouldn’t be like this with you if I didn’t.”  
Slowly, a matching smile spread over Arthur’s face and he reached over to kiss the American. “I love you, too, you miserable, horny git.” A smirk replaced the smile as he pulled away again. “Now quit looking at me with those bloody blue eyes and get to work. My trousers aren’t going to remove themselves.”  
Alfred laughed then pushed himself up so that he was kneeling behind the other nation. He took a moment to caress Arthur’s tail—earning a happy sigh—before he reached around and undid the button holding the Brit’s trousers closed, followed by the zipper. The slender hips wiggled, causing the fabric to slip down slightly. They would have fallen to his knees if not for the tail, and Alfred wasted no time in gently pulling Arthur’s rabbit tail free. With patient tugs, he worked the trousers off the smaller man and threw them in the same direction as the waistcoat.  
“How cute,” he commented, placing a hand on the jackalope’s rear and squeezing playfully. It really was sort of adorable, the way Arthur’s tail sat just at the top of his perfect, pale backside. Acting on a whim, Alfred leaned down and kissed one cheek, then the other. To his amusement, Arthur made an embarrassed sound and wriggled as if uncomfortable.  
“Something wrong?” Alfred’s tone was innocent even as his tongue slipped out and brushed lightly against the soft flesh.  
“H-hey! Don’t do that!” the Brit protested, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His face was beet red and he looked more flustered than Alfred had ever seen him.  
“Why not?”  
“Be-because! That’s dirty!”  
Alfred stared, his expression blank. “As if everything about this isn’t dirty and perverted?”  
That stalled Arthur for a moment. “It’s different.”  
“Really.” Straightening, Alfred couldn’t help but smirk a little, both hands now on the Brit’s backside. “Because I wanna try something and I’m not gonna stop just because it’s ‘dirty.’” Without further warning, he gently parted Arthur’s cheeks and dragged his tongue over the smaller man’s entrance.  
“Alfred!” Arthur half gasped, half shrieked the name, his entire body going rigid. His fingers dug into the blanket beneath him, clutching it so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and his back arched. The reaction was partially due to shock—he’d never expected Alfred to do that to him—but it was also, embarrassingly enough, out of pleasure. That sudden heat had made him shudder, and the cold that quickly followed left him wanting more, though he wasn’t quite willing to admit it.  
Before he had a chance to do or say anything else, the heat was back. Arthur moaned, his eyes falling shut at the sensation, and rocked his hips back. “More…”  
Alfred smirked at the quiet demand, using his tongue to rub gently. “I thought this was dirty.”  
“I-it is…ah!” Back arching even farther, Arthur half collapsed as that damned tongue pressed forward and inside. It was the strangest thing that had ever been done to him and yet he couldn’t bring himself to make Alfred stop. He was much too distracted by the heat of the American’s mouth, the firm grip of the hands holding him open and how, when he shifted back just right, Alfred’s tongue could reach just a little deeper. Never in his long life had he imagined he would ever let someone to this to him, much less the nation he had raised from a small boy. It was embarrassing but god it was good and then the tongue was moving and he couldn’t help it anymore.  
“Hnnng…A-Alfred…” he panted, reaching down with one hand to touch himself, “please…” With a firm grip, he pumped his erection once, twice, then rubbed the tip with his thumb, groaning wantonly.  
The tongue withdrew then licked once before his backside was released. “Yeah?”  
“Take me.” He knew he was breathless and he didn’t care. “Now.”  
Alfred chuckled. “You always were bossy. I gotta prepare you first, though. D’you have lube? I don’t think you want it dry.”  
No, he didn’t have any lube. It wasn’t as if he’d been expecting this to happen so of course he was unprepared. But he wasn’t about to put this on hold so they could go buy some, and he didn’t think he had the nerve for that, anyway. They were just going to have to go without, at least for tonight.  
“…just use your spit,” he finally muttered, turning his face away from the patiently waiting America.  
The younger nation shrugged. “If you say so.” Then he had three fingers in his mouth and was sucking on them vigorously. It was several long moments before he felt they were wet enough to avoid hurting the Englishman.  
“Ready?” He placed a finger at Arthur’s entrance.  
“Yes. Please.”  
As gently as he could, Alfred pushed his finger past the tight ring of muscles and into Arthur’s body. The golden blond bit his lip, a moan of pleasure and slight discomfort escaping him. Hearing it made Alfred hesitate and for a moment he considered stopping, thought that they should stop and he would just suck Arthur off because they really should get lube for something like this and he’d never forgive himself if he hurt the smaller man, especially during their first time together.  
 _First time in over two hundred years,_ he corrected himself, taking a calming breath before ever so carefully beginning to move his finger. _Please let me be doing this right._  
Shit, what if he did something wrong? What if he didn’t prepare Arthur enough and sex was only painful for him? Even worse, what if the Brit hid his pain so that Alfred could reach his climax? The thought sent waves of panic into the American’s head.  
“Hey, Artie? You’ll tell me if I mess up, right?” he asked hesitantly, worried blue eyes locked on what he could see of the other nation’s face.  
“W-what?” Twisting, Arthur looked up at Alfred and frowned. “What are you talking about?”  
Silent, Alfred turned his finger then pulled it back; carefully, he worked it and a second finger into Arthur’s body so that the jackalope groaned and let his knees slide even farther apart.  
“If I mess up and hurt you, I want you to tell me. Don’t act like I’m doing everything right if I’m not.”  
A curious light came into Arthur’s eyes as he panted into the blankets. “If you…? Alfred, is this your first time?” He watched as the ash blond turned a deep shade of red and averted his gaze.  
“No…but it’s been a while…”  
The reaction surprised him—he would never have guessed, judging by how the American had been acting up until now, that he wasn’t fairly experienced. “It’s okay, Alfred,” he soothed, wishing he could sit up and comfort the younger nation, though that was rather impossible considering the position he was in. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”  
“I’m not.” The winged half-lion’s tone was quieter than before, and he seemed to be focusing all of his attention on the hand he was using to prep the other man. “I just don’t want to hurt you by being stupid and rushing even though that potion is making me want to be really rough.”  
Despite the admittance that he was holding himself back, America’s fingers were unbelievably gentle as he twisted and scissored them within the confines of his partner. Every movement had Arthur letting out a gasp or moan, and the discomfort he’d initially felt had long been overwhelmed by the pleasure he was now being given.  
“Nn…d-don’t worry about it, love,” Arthur managed. He was starting to have a hard time forming coherent thoughts and his hand was moving steadily on his length. “You’re doing—ah—great.”  
“Really?” The hopeful edge on Alfred’s tone was accompanied by a third finger being pressed into Arthur and the jackalope bit down on the pillow to muffle a loud groan. Once the flare of pleasure subsided, he spat out the fabric and smiled reassuringly at the other nation.  
“R-really. Now, please, Alfred,” here he smirked and let lust color his voice, “be a good Kitten and hurry up so we can fuck like the animals that potion turned us into.”  
Alfred blushed and laughed a little at the crude phrasing, surprised to hear his former mentor speak in such a way. But he couldn’t deny that it was also a little arousing, and he wasted no time in leaning down to add his tongue to what his fingers were doing. Arthur let out a keening whine, shifting against the mattress and moving his hips to encourage the taller nation.  
Tongue rubbing, the younger of the two slowly spread the fingers he had buried in Arthur’s body apart so that the older man groaned loudly, his hips bucking of their own accord. Once he had the Brit’s entrance open wide enough, he let his tongue slip into the space between his fingers. An especially loud moan escaped the man he was tending to and Alfred dared to suck lightly to see what it would do.  
“A-Alfred!” Eyes going wide, Arthur shoved himself up off the mattress and lunged forward, grabbing onto the headboard and digging his nails into the wood as shudders tore through his body. Fuck, he’d never felt anything like this. Being stretched was one thing but what Alfred was doing to him was unbelievable, it was dirty and embarrassing and shameful and _incredible;_ he was barely managing to hold onto the headboard. Slowly, the heat was removed and he felt himself being licked again, shivering at the sensation.  
“You’re really hot in here,” Alfred purred, fingers still buried in Arthur’s body. “I bet it’ll feel really good to take you.” The moment he finished speaking he licked again, enjoying the way Arthur writhed.  
Managing to smirk, the Brit began to move his hips back against America’s hand and mouth, his jaw slack to let every moan, groan, whimper and gasp out at full volume. “Hah…better put your—nng—cock where your m—ah!—mouth is, Kitten.”  
There was nothing Alfred could do to stop the grin that lifted both sides of his mouth. “Oh, I will.” To prove it, the American sat up and gently withdrew his fingers, watching with amusement at the way Arthur shivered. He spat in his palm then rubbed the saliva onto his length—it really would have been better if Arthur had proper lubricants, but spit was going to have to be good enough—and moaned at the slight friction. Damn, he’d never been this horny in his life.  
The feel of hands on his hips sent a nervous-yet-excited shiver up Arthur’s spine; he dug his nails deeper into the wood of the headboard to steady himself, teeth cutting into his lip just slightly. Anticipation made him tense but he knew he needed to relax if this was going to go well, especially considering Alfred was already worried about making a mistake. A deep breath was all it took and he was ready, and the Brit shifted back against his younger companion as encouragement. The slight friction had him biting his tongue to hold back a sound, though he did arch his back and grind a little, driving a soft moan from Alfred.  
“Artie…” His grip tightened on the smaller male’s hips and Alfred pushed him gently, putting just enough space between their bodies that he could position himself at the Brit’s still-stretched entrance. Slowly, so slowly, he brought his hips forward until he was fully buried within the jackalope’s body. Fuck, he was hot, and tight despite what Alfred had done to prepare him.  
Arthur let out a long groan, shoulders hunching as he let his head fall forward until his antlers banged against the headboard. It wasn’t an entirely comfortable sensation to be penetrated, but it wasn’t painful and he knew all too well that he was a few simple movements away from the pleasure he was craving. “Hnn…fuck…move!”  
Obedient, Alfred drew back, almost pulling out, then quickly but carefully pushed back in. A moan was ripped from him as Arthur deliberately bucked to increase the contact and the movement; his fingers gripped the jackalope’s hips so tightly that the pale flesh would likely sport bruises in the morning.  
“D-damn, Arthur,” the taller nation ground out, settling into a steady rhythm as he abandoned the Brit’s hips in favor of bracing his hands beside Arthur’s on the headboard so he could move faster. “You feel am-mazing.”  
Arthur was too busy moaning to form a coherent response, his legs barely strong enough to hold himself up as Alfred continued to pound into him. Within minutes, both men were completely out of breath and sweat was beginning to gather on their skin. It ran down Alfred’s arms and back as the American panted, his eyes closed in concentration. He’d never felt anything like this, the coiling tightness in his belly, the trembling in his limbs from the exertion of sex, the heat that was Arthur. Sex was something he’d thought about on occasion since he’d gotten old enough for it but he had very little experience. And, at that moment, he didn’t think he would ever want to have this experience with anyone but the nation beneath him.  
The sounds Arthur was making echoed in his ears, loud and uninhibited; he managed to open his eyes far enough to see the smaller man, to register the clawed hands leaving scratches in the headboard and how Arthur squirmed and gasped with every movement. The Brit’s sweat made it look like his pale skin was shining and he was definitely enjoying himself, which encouraged Alfred. Shaking, the American placed his hands over Arthur’s, lacing their fingers, and held on tight as he adjusted his knees to try a slightly new angle.  
 _F-fuck…harder…more…_  
Damn it, why couldn’t he get the words out? His mouth refused to cooperate and Arthur was starting to get desperate. He would have begged if he could have formed a coherent sentence, begged for Alfred to touch him, to make him scream. It was rough, the way they’d positioned themselves, their bodies pressed together as his was ravaged by the larger man, and he loved it. God, he loved it. Every thrust of Alfred’s hips made his back arch and he couldn’t help but buck, moving in time with his new lover in a lust-driven attempt to reach his release. Alfred was bigger than anyone Arthur had previously had sex with and—  
“O-ohhh…hah…nng….”  
The feeling of Alfred’s member stretching him, filling him only to retreat and fill him all over again was pure bliss. Arthur wanted more, wanted the younger nation to buck hard and ram into him until they were both calling each other’s names. He wanted the bed to rock with the force of their lovemaking but his mouth refused to emit anything but pleasured moans.  
If only he could get the words out! Then he could demand to be given all those things he wanted, could guide Alfred to his prostate, to that one spot inside that would push him over the edge in minutes and leave him too exhausted to do anything but collapse and fall asleep still wrapped in the American’s strong arms.  
“A-Al…fred…hah! Nng…m-aaaah,” his eyelids fluttered and he squirmed at the new wave of pleasure that flooded his senses when the younger nation shifted his angle again, so close to his prostate that it was torture. “Bloody helllll mmmm-more!”  
Finally, he managed to get that one word out, and Alfred immediately complied, increasing both the speed and strength with which his hips moved, until one particularly deep buck ripped a scream from Arthur’s throat and the green-eyed jackalope’s world dissolved into blinding white pleasure. “ _Alfred!_ God…Alfred…!”  
At the same time that he screamed the younger man’s name, Arthur’s inner walls tightened to the point where Alfred could do little more than squeeze his lover’s hands and thrust harder, his self-control vanishing in the face of a burning need that blocked out everything else. There was only him and Arthur and the heat and the coil in his belly that was going to burst at any moment; he bucked again and Arthur whimpered, head hanging almost limply. Leaning down to bite the back of the golden blond’s neck, a moan sounded in his throat.  
“I’m…I’m gonna…nng…cum, Artie,” he panted before letting his tongue drag over the bite mark. He squeezed the Brit’s hands as the feeling in the pit of his stomach grew stronger until he could barely believe he hadn’t released yet. It was almost painful how close he was and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.  
Moaning, Arthur arched his back and pressed it against Alfred’s stomach to take the American in deeper. He barely registered what had been said to him and struggled to force out an answer. “M-me, too…mmm….just…f-faster…”  
Alfred nodded and did as he was told, gasping out his lover’s name with every breath. Their sweat-slicked bodies moved in time with each other, heated and trembling as the two nations raced towards their climaxes. Arthur was first, his release crashing down on him when Alfred hit his prostate and bit his magically grown ear at the same time, tugging gently. The force of it made Arthur cry out and he bucked roughly, his seed making a mess of the blankets. It was only another few moments before Alfred followed suit, roaring out Arthur’s name as he planted himself even farther into the Englishman’s body as he came. A whimper sounded in the jackalope’s throat and he shuddered, panting, barely managing not to collapse as exhaustion overtook him.  
Slowly, the pleasure faded and Alfred carefully separated himself from his newfound lover. As soon as he felt the American slip out, Arthur let himself fall and closed his eyes, panting heavily, his head pillowed on his arms. He couldn’t believe how tired he was, and he knew he was going to be sore in the morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he wanted now was to sleep, regardless of the mess they’d made.  
Lips brushed against his shoulder and one green eye cracked open to find that Alfred had moved to sit beside the jackalope. The younger nation was smiling tiredly but happily as he reached out and gently stroked a hand through Arthur’s hair; the golden blond sighed and closed his eye again, prepared to drift off.  
“Hey, Artie?”  
“Hm?” he hummed, barely still awake.  
“Can you promise me something?”  
The worry in Alfred’s tone caught Arthur’s attention and the Briton fought to stay awake long enough to respond. “Of course, love.” It was quiet as Alfred shifted his weight and laid down, one arm draped over Arthur’s waist.  
“Promise you’ll still love me in the morning,” the blue-eyed nation whispered. There was no response, and he realized with a pang that Arthur had already fallen asleep and probably hadn’t heard him. With a sigh, he pulled the sleeping nation close and cuddled him protectively, his last thoughts before exhaustion claimed him that, hopefully, the morning wouldn’t bring resentment and heartache.


	3. Chapter 3

The pounding in his head made Arthur wince before he even opened his eyes, and he groaned in pain and irritation. What the hell had he done to earn such a terrible headache?  
 _Oh…that bloody potion…_  
It must be wearing off, if he was getting a headache. Magic always left some undesirable lingering effects, but he hadn’t been expecting a migraine.  
Still wincing, England forced himself to open his eyes and sat up; an unexpected weight on his hip drew his gaze downward and he stared. There was an arm wrapped around his waist. Why was there an arm wrapped around his waist?  
Following the limb, he twisted around and couldn’t stop himself from squeaking in alarm at the sight of Alfred lying beside him in his bed. Even more shocking, the ash blond nation appeared to be completely naked, and it only took Arthur a moment to realize that so was he.  
 _What…happened last night?_  
Now that he tried to remember, it was nearly impossible to recall anything that happened after the explosion in the basement. They must have showered after that, and then he was sure he hadn’t cancelled the party. But he had no memories of the party taking place, which nations had been there or what affects the potion had had on him and Alfred.  
Apparently, it had done a great deal more than he’d originally intended it to. He’d somehow ended up naked and in bed with America and he was convinced that he probably hadn’t agreed to any of it. Though, he had to admit, Alfred did look very peaceful while he slept. His glasses were missing and his hair was even wilder than usual. His ribs expanded and contracted with each breath, and he looked like he was smiling in his sleep. It was actually…kind of cute…  
 _None of that,_ the Brit mentally scolded himself, a frown creasing his forehead. _There is to be no dilly-dallying with the former colony, regardless of how handsome he turned out to be. Just get out of bed, get dressed, make yourself some tea and try to remember what the bloody hell happened last night so you can be properly upset about it._  
Arthur held his breath as he removed the arm from around his waist and slowly slid towards the edge of the bed. If he could manage to get up without waking Alfred then he could at least get himself pulled together before having to confront the younger nation. There was a chance that Alfred would be able to remember what had happened after the party, but there was a bigger chance that he had forgotten just as much as Arthur had. The green-eyed man was much more willing to believe the second choice and was even hopeful that that would be the case. If neither of them remembered, then there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Perhaps they’d simply fallen asleep together after the party—it wouldn’t be first time Arthur had woken up to find that Alfred had snuck into his bed during the night when he couldn’t sleep.  
Yes, that was definitely what had happened. Alfred had probably stayed up too late watching scary movies and frightened himself silly, as usual, then decided the only safe place was Arthur’s room. Of course.  
Satisfied with the explanation he’d come up with, Arthur made it to the edge of the bed before he noticed a strange feeling on his stomach. Further investigation revealed a thin, opaque white substance had dried onto his stomach and was now cracking as he moved.  
“What is…?” He paused, eyes going wide. No. Not possible. Not bloody possible there was no way. Definitely not. He had _not_ had _sex_ with _Alfred!_  
Overwhelmed, Arthur buried his face in his hands and took a deep, shaky breath. This was bad. It was terrible. It was the worst thing that could have happened. How many years had he spent insisting on treating Alfred like a child just so this wouldn’t happen? No matter that he’d been attracted to the American for more years than he cared to remember—it wasn’t appropriate for a former empire like himself to become romantically involved with a nation he’d raised from a child, one who had been his colony until a revolutionary war separated them!  
 _Of course,_ the green-eyed nation mused, _it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d remained under my control. Why wouldn’t a world power like myself have formed a deeper bond with one of my most powerful colonies? Alfred and I could have conquered the world together._  
He pushed the thoughts aside with a regretful sigh. There was no use imagining what could have been. For now, he needed to deal with the possibility that he’d broken one of his biggest rules and had intercourse with the United States of America. The first step of doing that was to shower and get rid of the evidence on his stomach, but when Arthur stood up, a small spike of pain made him gasp and he instinctively reached around to place a hand over the source; his backside was sore, and there was only one explanation for that.  
Slowly, England sank back down onto the mattress. He had to put a hand over his mouth to keep from making a sound that would wake America. How could this have happened? Why? Hadn’t it been bad enough that he’d indulged Alfred at every opportunity? He’d hosted that damn party, he let the younger nation stay over on a moment’s notice. He spoiled him with attention and affection because the role of the doting parent was the only one he felt he was allowed to play.  
It wasn’t fair.  
Shaking and nervous, the nation who had once been the British Empire turned and gazed down at his old colony with regretful, pain-filled green eyes.  
 _I’m sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen._  
He wanted to say it, to brush Alfred’s ash blond hair out of his face, stroke his cheek, kiss his forehead. But Arthur didn’t move any closer to his sleeping companion, and after another few moments had passed, he turned away again and sighed—he should shower and dress and pretend nothing had happened.  
As he was beginning to push himself off the bed to stand once more, something touched the hand he had braced on the mattress. Surprise made Arthur turn, and he was immediately trapped by the sight of deep blue eyes looking up at him. His breath caught in his throat and he felt the urge to snatch his hand away battle with the want to lace his fingers through Alfred’s and never let go.  
 _Beautiful._  
Then those blue eyes blinked and Alfred rolled onto his back, rubbing his face. “Ugh…my head is killing me…”  
Arthur resisted the desire to smooth back the American’s hair and stroke his cheek, assure him that the pain would go away soon. His own headache was nearly gone, though it had been replaced by a pain in his heart. Not that he was going to mention that.  
“Mm…” Alfred stretched, his muscles flexing under the sun-kissed skin in a way that caught the light from the window and made him look like he was cast in gold.  
Watching him made Arthur feel especially pale and thin and the Brit wrapped his arms around his torso protectively.  
“It’s a side effect of the potion wearing off,” he explained softly, glad that he was twisted around enough that his lower half was out of view. “You’ll be fine, soon.”  
Concerned blue eyes examined the older nation as Alfred sat up and put on his glasses. “You okay, Artie? You seem kinda quiet.”  
 _No. No, I am not okay. We had sex, you idiot! And I can’t even remember it!_  
“I’m fine, of course.” England forced a smile. “Couldn’t be better.”  
Alfred was stretching again and it really was unfair. “Good.”  
Silence filled the dim bedroom. Arthur became convinced that the younger nation had no memories of the previous night. That was for the best, though a part of him wished desperately that things could be different. And still his pride urged him to get up and go about his day as usual because that was the only way to protect himself from the pain he’d been avoiding for so many years.  
 _Don’t think about that. Just get up and act like nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s wrong._  
But he couldn’t bring himself to move. He didn’t want to be away from Alfred, not when it would be so easy to move closer, to rest against that strong, tanned chest, let the younger nation wrap a protective arm around his shoulders. They could stay cuddled in bed all day together, only wandering out of the bedroom in search of food when their stomachs refused to be quiet. His heart hurt more to think of that, and he opened his mouth to ask if Alfred remembered anything, but before he could get the words out, a loud buzzing sounded from the dresser and both males looked. It was Arthur’s phone, vibrating and moving slightly from the force. More than three buzzes—someone was calling him.  
He should go answer it but at the same time he didn’t want to get up. What if America watched him? There was no doubt in Arthur’s mind what they’d done and he wasn’t sure if he was brave enough to walk around naked in front of the younger man. Not after that, not with his own dried spunk on his stomach and a soreness in his backside. It would be too humiliating.  
“Uh, you gonna get that?” Alfred asked, turning concerned blue eyes on Arthur as the American sat up. Luckily, the blankets still covered his lower half, otherwise Arthur would have turned redder than a tomato.  
“No, I’ll let it go to voicemail.”  
Just as he finished speaking, the buzzing stopped. Alfred shrugged and picked his glasses up off the bedside table, putting them on then running a hand through his disheveled hair. His just-woke-up look was adorable and Arthur was tempted to crawl into his lap, cup his face and kiss him, coo sweet nothings to him all morning. Too late, the green-eyed nation realized he’d been staring and that Alfred had noticed. The younger nation was looking at him in confusion.  
“Sorry,” he muttered, looking away before he could be questioned. The buzzing started again and the older nation let out a sigh. Whoever it was wasn’t willing to wait, so he gathered what little dignity he had left and stood, crossing the room without so much as glancing at Alfred. He picked up the phone and flipped it open, putting it to his ear. “Hello?”  
 _“Good morning, Arthur,”_ a soft voice greeted him from the other end of the line. It took a few moments for Arthur to recognize the voice as belonging to Canada.  
“Good morning, Matthew,” he replied, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Alfred sat up a little straighter when he heard his brother’s name. “What can I do for you?”  
 _“Francis and I just wanted to make sure that you’re all right.”_  
Ah, so the first call had probably been France, and he’d made Canada call thinking Arthur had ignored him but would answer the younger blond. Even though that hadn’t exactly been the case this morning, it would probably work similarly any other time.  
“I’m perfectly fine, of course,” he replied, directing his gaze onto the dresser top so he wouldn’t keep watching Alfred.  
 _“Oh, good. And Alfred? Is he back to normal, too?”_  
Arthur paused. Back to normal…? “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Matthew.”  
The other end of the line was quiet for a moment. _“Um, from your costumes last night?”_  
Their costumes? Shit. What had they been for the party? He tried hard to remember but the night before remained blank to him, completely nonexistent. That damn potion had done something to them and when it wore off they couldn’t remember it. Of course not.  
“Our costumes, right.” Another glance at Alfred revealed the American was frowning slightly as if trying to remember their costumes without success. “Remind me what our costumes were, Matthew, if you would.” After he said it, Arthur clicked the speaker button on his phone and turned the volume up so that Canada’s quiet voice sounded throughout the room.  
 _“Alfred was winged lion and you were a demonic jackalope.”_  
Blue eyes widened at the same time as green and the two nations stared at each other.  
“I was a _what?_ ”Alfred asked, frowning as he threw the blankets off and stood in order to come close enough to participate in the conversation. “Say that again, Mattie,” he demanded of the Canadian.  
 _“America had lion ears and a tail, fur on his spine, fangs, and big golden wings. England had white bunny ears and a tail, buck teeth and fangs, antlers, and fur on his belly and lower back.”_  
“Really?” He was staring at Arthur incredulously before a wide grin stretched over his face. “Please tell me someone took pictures of that!”  
 _“I’m pretty sure Francis was taking pictures of the party. So was Gilbert.”_  
“Hell yeah!” Alfred crowed, delighted that there was photo evidence of him being a winged lion. Then his grin turned sly as he looked at Arthur. “Bet you were adorable as a bunny, Artie.”  
“Shut up, git,” the older nation growled, clicking the button again to take Matthew off speaker phone as he put the device to his ear again. “We’re both perfectly fine, Matthew. Thank you for calling to check on us.”  
 _“It’s no problem. You were acting strangely last night so we wanted to make sure everything was all right.”_  
“Acting strangely” was an understatement, as far as Arthur was concerned. Acting strangely for him and America would be smiling at each other and hugging. What they’d done went way beyond “acting strangely.”  
“That’s very kind of both of you. Tell Francis we said hello.”  
 _“I will. Bye, Arthur.”_  
“Goodbye, Matthew.” He disconnected the call with the click of a button and set the phone down again, sighing. His other hand was placed over his eyes as he considered his current situation—naked, sore, dried spunk on his stomach, Alfred also naked and only about a foot away, probably staring at him with those bloody blue eyes, the bed a mess from the sex they’d had, and neither of them able to remember it. Brilliant. The weight of the situation pushed on his shoulders until Arthur found himself leaning on the dresser, his elbow propped on it as he continued to cover his eyes. There was no good way for this to end.  
“Hey, Arthur.”  
He didn’t look up or move at all. “Hm?”  
“D’you, uh, remember anything about last night?”  
A sigh worked its way out of the older nation. “No, America, I don’t remember.”  
“So…” The soft touch of a hand on his hip made Arthur look up and he gasped softly to suddenly find Alfred so close. Their chests were almost touching; how had the American gotten that close without him noticing?! “We had sex, right?”  
Shit.  
 _No, don’t panic, England. You’re too old for that. Just stay calm. Calm._  
“It would seem so,” the green-eyed nation replied, ignoring the hand as he turned his attention to the bed. The blankets were rumpled and partially pulled out, not to mention dirty.  
“Then these are from me.” Without warning, Alfred leaned in and gently kissed one of the marks on England’s neck, making the older nation stiffen in surprise.  
“Y-yes,” he managed, trying to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. Blue eyes met green and Alfred’s free hand gently cupped Arthur’s cheek.  
“I guess there’s no use hiding it anymore,” the American whispered, and Arthur’s heart began to beat rapidly.  
“Alfred…”  
A thumb stroked his cheek; his breath caught in his throat. Alfred was smiling at him, a soft, tender smile that Arthur had never seen on his face before. Not like this.  
“I love you, Artie.”  
Oh, God. Oh, no. America loved him. _America loved him._ It felt like his heart stopped then suddenly took off in a dead sprint. It was going to crack his ribs or something. Was this really happening? Sex he could believe, could understand. They were adults, powerful nations. Sex between them wasn’t appropriate considering their past, but he could live with it. But _love?_ What was he supposed to do with love? Should he admit to his own feelings? He wanted to…bloody hell he wanted to grab Alfred and kiss him hard, but he stayed where he was, frozen in uncertainty.  
That smile was fading the longer Arthur remained silent. Eventually, it vanished completely and the hand dropped away from his face, the other from his hip and Alfred stepped back, taking a deep breath.  
“Okay. Obviously, you don’t feel the same way.” He laughed a little self-mockingly. “I’m not surprised. You still see me as a kid, right? Yeah. So whatever happened last night was because of that potion and totally didn’t mean anything. Not a thing.”  
Was that a waver he heard in his younger companion’s voice? Was Alfred…about to cry? No, no that couldn’t happen no way could Arthur handle seeing his Alfred cry.  
His Alfred…he hadn’t allowed himself to think of him that way in centuries. Still, he remained silent and simply looked at the taller nation until Alfred turned away and headed for the door.  
“I’m gonna shower then get dressed. I’ll help clean up the mess before I leave. It’s the least I can do after making you host the party and destroying your basement.” The younger man sounded so utterly heartbroken, his voice growing softer the longer he spoke, that Arthur moved before the American had even managed to cross the hall. He didn’t make a sound, simply ran after Alfred and caught the taller man only a few steps past his door, arms wrapping tightly around the other’s waist as he held on and buried his face between Alfred’s shoulder blades. The bespectacled nation stopped, looking down at the hands clasped over his stomach.  
“Arthur?”  
“I’m sorry.” The words were muffled seeing as they were spoken into Alfred’s back, but he still understood them.  
“For what?”  
Arthur took a deep breath. “Not saying anything just then. I know it’s not appropriate, but…I love you, too. Last night wasn’t nothing. Whatever we did…it was something. I could never do anything like that with you without it meaning something, Alfred.” Silence followed his words as it sank in for both of them that Arthur had just admitted to loving his former colony.  
Moving slowly, Alfred turned within the older nation’s embrace until they were facing each other and returned the hug, arms wrapping around Arthur’s narrow shoulders as he pressed a kiss to the Brit’s forehead.  
“You mean that?” he asked softly, looking into his old mentor’s eyes, hardly daring to hope.  
A smile lifted the corners of Arthur’s mouth and he reached up the few inches separating them in order to press a gentle kiss to Alfred’s lips. “With all my heart, love.”  
Alfred grinned into the kiss and pulled the smaller nation closer until their naked bodies were flush against each other and the kiss had become quite a bit more intense. Eventually, though, the two broke apart due to the need for air, and then Alfred let his forehead rest against Arthur’s, staring into green eyes with a happy smile plastered to his face.  
“We should clean up,” Arthur murmured after several minutes, meaning both that they needed to shower and that the lower levels of his house were in desperate need of attention. With a nod, Alfred pulled out of the hug only to take Arthur’s hand and lead him the rest of the way to the guest room, pulling him through into the bathroom.  
“Alfred?”  
The bespectacled nation threw a playful grin over his shoulder before gently pushing Arthur into the shower, setting his glasses on the counter, and stepping in behind him. “Let’s be a little dirty before we get clean, Artie,” he suggested, and Arthur felt his face warm considerably, followed by his ears and neck.  
Embarrassed, the Brit looked away but nodded his consent. A shiver worked down his spine when Alfred turned the water on, freezing for the first few seconds but warming quickly after that. He barely had time to wet his hair before he found himself pinned to the wall, cold against his back, Alfred at his front, kissing his neck and paying special attention to those places that already bore marks from the night before. A soft moan escaped him and he buried one hand in ash blond locks as the kisses worked lower and lower.  
“I don’t remember what we did last night, Artie,” Alfred breathed, looking up at Arthur through his bangs in a way that was unfairly sexy, “but I’m gonna make sure you never forget what we do in the next hour.”  
The way he said it made Arthur shiver in anticipation and the golden blond couldn’t help but let a sexy smile curve his lips. “I’m going to hold you to that, my cute little colony.” His teasing made the American raise an eyebrow and Arthur chuckled before pulling him up and kissing him, bodies pressed together under the heated spray of the shower.  
Dignity and pride be damned. Alfred was his and this time England wasn’t letting him go.


End file.
